


To a Summer's Day

by vanerz



Series: METAESQUEMA [1]
Category: Inazuma Eleven
Genre: Fudou has a tough life, GenFu brotherhood, High school Teikoku, M/M, Slow Burn, eventual fusaku, will update tags when this gets going
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-04-20 02:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14251407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanerz/pseuds/vanerz
Summary: A tale of eventual brotherhood. Archive warnings current to the latest chapter.





	1. PROLOGUE 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired not by Shakespeare, but by [Bridget Riley](http://www.tate.org.uk/art/artworks/riley-to-a-summers-day-2-t03375).

There was a boy at the supermarket. Well, there were plenty of boys at the supermarket, and quite a few men, too, but what was notable about this particular one was that he was working his way through the fresh vegetables section. Mrs. Genda didn’t mean to stereotype, but in all her years of grocery shopping she had never seen people of the male persuasion obtaining their meals at this stage of its preparation cycle. Her husband was the same; her son, Koujirou, too. Neither of them could find their way around a kitchen. Neither of them had probably ever thought to try. So when there was a boy among all the women, you couldn’t help but notice.

The boy looked like your standard alleyway mohawked punk, which made the dexterity with which he flitted from aisle to aisle and plucked his chosen produce all the more fascinating. From her vantage point at the frozen foods section, Mrs. Genda could see him inspect the _daikons_ with his eyes only before finally reaching out to pluck one out from the pile and place it in his shopping basket. _Polite_ , she noted with approval. _Didn’t make too many unnecessary movements._ In the hustle and bustle of peak hour grocery shopping, that was an important trait indeed, and one that contrasted with his rough appearance. And he had a good eye for produce, too. The boy’s choice of groceries were cheap but cheerful, versatile vegetables that were great value for money and that could hold their own in a multitude of dishes. It pointed to a knowledge of cooking that was deeper than she would expect of a boy of his youth.

But that wasn’t the most curious thing about him. If Mrs. Genda had seen a teenage boy shop like an old-hand housewife in any other circumstance, she would have been impressed and then moved on. Her family was waiting and dinner wouldn’t make itself, after all. What gave her pause, however, was his dark grey uniform with two rows of buttons running down its front. It was accented with a red collar and red cuffs and lined with gold trimming that led to two understated, yet elegant braided epaulettes at his shoulders. It was the uniform of Teikoku High, the school Koujirou attended, and an exclusive, prestigious private school. To see a Teikoku student jostling in the sales with the neighbourhood aunties was rare indeed. It almost made Mrs. Genda want to see him again.

* * *

Of course, wishes like those were fulfilled at the most unexpected time and place, and she did see him again, at somewhere so familiar it was strange that she had never seen him before in the first place.

Mrs. Genda had stopped attending her son’s matches in middle school, since they were mostly on weekdays, but since high school matches were on weekends it seemed like a good idea to start going again. Of course, Koujirou complained, but she had never let that stop her and she wouldn’t now.

So that was where she saw the mohawked boy again, directing players on the field. His name flashed up on the screen when he was substituted into the match and Mrs. Genda immediately recognised it. While Fudou Akio was only on the pitch for around 25 minutes of the second half of the match, his skill was undeniable. Wherever he pointed was where his teammates went.

After the game, when the boys had all freshened up and were getting ready to leave, Mrs. Genda made a point of approaching them. She recognised most of the boys around Koujirou from his first year of middle school, and her brain even helpfully supplied some names – Sakuma-kun, of course, and Henmi-kun, Jimon-kun, and Ookusu-kun? But while they had greeted her with loud voices and frantic waves back then, now they only gave her nods and polite ‘Good afternoon’s. Three years at Teikoku had melded, and would continue to meld, them into perfect gentlemen. If you asked Mrs. Genda, it was a bit of a shame.

* * *

Fudou Akio was only at the supermarket one or two days of the week. How he lasted the whole week with the small amount of groceries he bought baffled Mrs. Genda, but she supposed that if you only had to cook dinner for one, you could make it work somehow. He had been the one to approach her and was nothing but polite when he introduced herself. He even offered her some cabbage that had been on limited-time sale about half an hour ago.

“I figured Genda likes cabbage since he always wolfs it down during _monjayaki_ ,” he’d said.

Mrs. Genda always reached the supermarket too late to snag a cheap cabbage. She was, by now, thoroughly charmed.

This became a pattern. Whenever Mrs. Genda saw Fudou, they exchanged a few words, Fudou gave Mrs. Genda a bit of whatever had gone on sale earlier, and they parted ways. Fudou was a master of the sale section, nabbing a bit of everything he wanted with ease (he never got tomatoes though) without bothering any of the other shoppers or making them feel like he took their share. (Which, he admitted with a cheeky smile, he did sometimes. But you know, Genda’s gotta eat, right?) He eventually became so helpful that Mrs. Genda started to feel bad, and the thought that she should do something nice for Fudou entered her mind.

According to Koujirou, Fudou’s family lived in Ehime, while Fudou rented a room in an apartment complex near Teikoku. Mrs. Genda couldn’t imagine living away from your guardians at such a young age. She resolved to follow Fudou around the whole supermarket the next time she saw him and pay for all his shopping.

It was four days until she normally saw Fudou again, and she found herself counting down the days with a twinge of anticipation in her heart. But when the day rolled by, he wasn’t there when she arrived. She lingered a while, until she was sure that dinner would be later than usual, but he didn’t appear. The next Wednesday, too, Mrs. Genda lingered. But again, Fudou didn’t appear.

Monday the week after arrived and Mrs. Genda especially hoped Fudou would be there, because the sweet corn (Genda’s actual favourite food) was scheduled to go on sale. But when she got to the supermarket, the sweet corn was gone, and there was no sign of a mohawk anywhere. With a pang in her heart, Mrs. Genda realised that Fudou Akio had stopped coming.

* * *

After two weeks of grocery shopping with nary a Fudou Akio in sight, Mrs. Genda finally gave in. Over dinner, a simple affair of teriyaki salmon, rice, and stir-fried mushrooms, she cleared her throat, and then nonchalantly said, “Koujirou-kun, your classmate, Fudou. How is he doing lately?”

Her son’s eyebrows shot up, making him look like a surprised cat. “Why do you ask?”

Then his eyes narrowed. “Is this about your grocery shopping with him? I still can’t believe you do that, by the way. Well, I guess it’s more like I can’t believe he shops with you.”

“Never mind that,” Mrs. Genda said. “But yes, it is. I haven’t seen him lately, so I thought I’d ask to see if you know if he started going to another supermarket. You know he’s done so much for us, helping me out with the groceries… He’s the reason you have potato corn salad. I want to do something for him in return.”

Koujirou chewed meditatively on a piece of salmon, then swallowed. When he spoke again his expression was pensive.

“You know, Fudou hasn’t been in school for the past week. Sakuma and I texted him, but he hasn’t told us why.”

“Isn’t this the boy who lives in Ehime?” Mr. Genda chimed in. “Is something serious going on?”

Koujirou stopped chewing. After a few seconds of silence, he even put his chopsticks down. His brows furrowed in thought. It looked like this was the first time that this had occurred to him.

“Fudou always has things sorted out,” he finally said. “So I thought it was just another of those times. Sakuma and I thought that. But he hasn’t been away for so long, and he’s never not told us why before.”

And with that, Mrs. Genda’s mind was made up.

“Koujirou-kun,” she said. “Why don’t you call Fudou-kun and invite him over for dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU my friend June and I came up with ages ago. I'm going to work on it on and off! I'm taking a more relaxed approach to writing and uploading this (i.e. not proofreading it to death), but I hope I'll make up for it in volume and (maybe) speed!  
> Also, yes, Mrs. Genda's POV is only limited to this chapter LOL. Next chapter/prologue is in Genda's POV!


	2. PROLOGUE 2

Fudou returned to school after a two-week absence. Genda tried to ask about it and received a dismissive deflection for his efforts. At least he got Fudou to agree to dinner after practice on Saturday. In retrospect, he should have noticed the way his mum’s eyes gleamed when he told her the news.

He woke up Saturday morning to _thunks_ echoing from downstairs. It was probably nothing to worry about, and indeed it wasn’t – when Genda went downstairs after getting ready, all he found in the kitchen was his mother in an apron and a growing pile of chopped vegetables.

His mother normally didn’t start cooking dinner until she got home from work. His father sat at the breakfast table, watching his wife with a curious eye.

Practice was tough as always, and while everyone dispersed after practice to McDonald’s, Genda stayed to wait for Fudou. When Fudou emerged from the showers he was dressed in neat clothes, blander and tamer than what he usually wore. They were not nice by any means, but still multitudes more formal than Genda had ever seen him in. The contrast was so strong that he was left feeling like everyone but him had been invited to a very fancy party.

“That’s a huge bag you have there,” he said, gesturing at Fudou’s sports bag that was stuffed to the brim. “You didn’t have to bring such nice clothes all the way to practice, seriously.”

“What?” said Fudou defensively. “You wouldn’t dress nice if someone was inviting you over for dinner?”

“This dinner isn’t going to be fancy at all,” Genda said. “You’re expecting too much from my mother.”

* * *

It turned out that it was Genda who had been expecting too little. On their journey home, he had made sure to lower Fudou’s expectations to nothing more than a bowl of rice and a few side dishes. The multitude of aromas that hit them the moment he opened his front door proved him so very wrong.

Genda chanced a sheepish look at Fudou and found his friend standing still with his mouth hanging slightly open. On the table were five plates groaning under the weight of the food atop them. One plate held cold appetisers. Another a salad. A third was heaving with _tempura_ and other deep-fried delights. And from the kitchen, complex meaty aromas tinged with _miso_ , sesame oil, and more things Genda couldn’t identify promised even more to come. Genda had never seen so much food on his table before. To be honest, he was a little jealous.

“No tomatoes,” Fudou breathed, almost in wonder. He was very clearly overwhelmed. Genda’s mother radiated so much satisfaction that Genda could feel the warmth from her smile from where he stood, and his envy dissipated in an instant. His mother had been hard at work all day, but seeing Fudou so touched that he was rendered speechless made it all worth it.

Genda made sure to stuff himself with as much food as he could during dinner. It was no exaggeration to say that he wasn’t sure whether he would be able to eat all the different foods, handmade by his mother, ever again in his life. There were so many types of food that statistically, a repeat of every single one of them was unlikely. Next to him, Fudou ate with more restraint, but he was no slouch. To Mrs. Genda’s delight, the two boys cleared out over half the table.

The final course of dinner was _matcha_ milk pudding with homemade _azuki_ bean paste. Genda didn’t even know his mother could make pudding from scratch. Fudou ate with no less enthusiasm than when he’d begun, and when he scraped the final bits of pudding from the bottom edges of the glass jar, he let out a long, deep breath. It felt like the end of a very good dream.

“This was amazing,” he said. “Genda-san… I can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh, no need,” Genda’s mother said quickly while beaming. “It was my pleasure! No need for thanks. It was the least I could do!”

This was, of course, obligatory polite denial. But his mother had never put in so much effort before, not even for a PTA dinner party, and Genda had never seen Fudou this open before either. They were saying their lines, but the emotions underneath were true.

“Anyway, Fudou-kun,” Genda’s mother continued. “It’s getting late. Why don’t we drive you home when you’re ready to leave?”

Fudou stilled. “Oh no, I couldn’t trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all,” Mrs. Genda said. “How can we just let a boy like you out into the night? We have a responsibility to your parents to ensure your safety. Isn’t that right, dear?”

The gaze she aimed at his father was earnest and insistent. But it gleamed with a steely edge that Genda recognised. His mother’s seemingly innocent offer hid something more. She was definitely plotting something, and Genda wasn’t about to get in her way.

“Absolutely right,” Mr. Genda affirmed. He was no fool either. “You live near Teikoku, don’t you? Just tell me where and when.”

Still, Fudou wavered. “Well… just to the nearest station then?” he said. “I can take the train back.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Genda said, “you don’t want to risk missing the last train.”

Fudou’s lips twitched at that, a movement so small that Genda wasn’t sure either of his parents had noticed.

“I _really_ don’t want to trouble you after all you’ve done today,” he insisted.

“Well, then there really won’t be an issue.” His mother’s smile was sweet. It was the smile she used when she wanted whoever she was facing to go _down_. “My husband didn’t do a thing today. He will be happy to drive you.”

One side of Fudou’s lips quirked up in a strange sort of smile. “You’re making this really hard for me, Genda-san.”

“We’re the adults here,” his mother said, still steady, still insistent, not pushing too much but not backing down. Genda knew she wanted to say that it was Fudou who was making things hard for himself. He also knew she would never say it. “It’s our job to take care of you.”

“That’s right,” Genda’s father said. Evidently, he had decided to end Fudou’s agony. By crushing his case. “We wouldn’t be able to face your parents if something happened to you.”

Fudou’s weird, compressed smile widened. The whole time, Genda had been confused at why he was putting up such a fight, and it hit him then just how absurd the scene playing out in front of him was. When it got to this point, why wouldn’t you just accept your friend’s parents’ offer? Something wasn’t right.

“So, where to exactly? I’ll take a look at the street directory before we go,” his father said, and Fudou let out a long sigh. His smile disappeared.

“Okay,” he said, “you got me.”

The room stilled. All eyes turned to Fudou, who flushed under the attention.

“I don’t have an address you can drive me to,” he continued, eyes flickering from left to right but avoiding direct eye contact with any of the Gendas. Then, after another deep breath: “I no longer live in Tokyo.”

Genda’s heart stopped. His first instinct was to look at his mother. He hadn’t expected her to freak out, but expected the lack of surprise on her features even less. His mother’s eyebrows were furrowed and on her face was a deep frown.

“Then, about Teikoku…” she trailed off.

Fudou nodded. “That’s right.” You’d think that he would deliver such lifechanging news with something other than a monotone, but apparently not. “I’m quitting at the end of the semester.”

“Wait, what?” Genda blurted out.

Fudou looked at him then, but didn’t speak. His eyes flashed. _You heard me_.

 “You poor dear,” Mrs. Genda said. The frown was gone from her face; she was looking at Fudou now with undisguised sympathy. “You were just going to leave our house like that. What were you going to do if you missed your last train?”

Fudou shrugged. “Kill time at McDonald’s until the trains start up again in the morning? I’ve been staying at manga and Internet cafés the whole week, but I only have enough for my train ticket back to Ehime now so…”

It was then that Mrs. Genda got a glint in her eyes. Or rather, more accurately, the glint escalated and levelled up. It made a sense of anticipation settle into Genda’s stomach, like this was the start of something big. Or maybe it was just that his mother was going to do something scary. She glanced at Genda, and then at his father, whose expression was carefully neutral, asking only the silent question, _‘What are you going to do now?’_

On Genda’s face was the same expression. The question was purely out of curiosity. They knew they had no hope of influencing Mrs. Genda’s plans. Over a decade and a half of dealing with the Genda matriarch had taught them the extent of their power, and Mrs. Genda had to know it, too, because at the next moment she smiled sweetly (with a hint of triumph hidden deep underneath, and genuine concern buried even deeper, so as not to embarrass their guest) and said to Fudou, “My goodness, darling, then you must stay the night!”

* * *

Fudou was given the spare room. Genda was given the duty of preparing Fudou’s bed, and did it happily enough. He wouldn’t say it, but it had been a while since someone had slept over at his place. And this was _Fudou_. Genda couldn’t say he wasn’t interested in seeing what Fudou would be like in this new situation.

Even if the circumstances that led to it were bad. Genda knew he couldn’t fully understand what Fudou was feeling right now, but even he knew what leaving Teikoku meant. And out of all of them, Fudou was the one who had tried the hardest to get into Teikoku. He wouldn’t have made the decision to leave lightly.

“You can ask, you know,” Fudou said sharply. He was next to Genda, stuffing the guest room pillows into their pillowcases with practiced ease that held a vicious edge. Next to his sleek movements, Genda felt like a clumsy oaf.

“I mean you don’t have to tell me,” Genda said. “It’s like, it must’ve been a tough situation to get you—”

“No, I have to tell you,” Fudou interjected. “And your parents, too. I don’t want any of you to think I’m staying over for shits and giggles.”

He took a deep breath.

“My parents have gone to prison. Tax evasion,” Fudou pressed on, nipping Genda’s shocked response in the bud. “Evidence was strong. They confessed immediately and got reduced sentences. Can you believe this was all done in two weeks? Our country is way too efficient.”

It was an outlandish story, like something out of a TV show. Genda had never seen a criminal, but suddenly, if Fudou was to be believed, he was facing the son of two in the flesh. Of course, this was the guy who had busted Kageyama out of jail and coerced his fellow teenagers to play football on a submarine. It wasn’t too surprising in the grand scheme of things. But Fudou was different now.

“I didn’t have much savings, and I blew what I had in the two weeks I was out of school. Taking care of affairs costs money. And even now, every week. Train tickets aren’t cheap.” Fudou’s smile was bitter. “It’s unrealistic to budget for living in Tokyo with what I have, so after the semester ends I’m going to go home and take care of the house until they get out. ‘S just six months.”

Genda finally found his voice. “Can’t,” he croaked, then cleared his throat, “can’t Teikoku do something?”

“Just think for even a _second_. You think they would want to associate with a child of criminals?” Fudou’s voice was angry, a helpless, quiet anger that tugged at Genda’s heart and weighed down his bones. “I better fucking hope they don’t find out.”

Genda was floored. This was the first time he had heard Fudou swear with such vehemence. Of course, he and the others at Teikoku all used swear words regularly, but not like this. This wasn’t like when they threw the word out, hesitant, flippant, brash, daring. The expletive had exploded from Fudou’s mouth like a pit viper spitting venom. That one word conveyed Fudou’s anger, disbelief, and hopelessness better than any clever combination of words could have.

Genda didn’t know what to say to that, and they continued to prepare the room in silence. When they finished, he excused himself and went to brew Fudou some _sencha_ from his mother’s collection. It was what she had when she was feeling stressed, and it was what she made him, too, when he was studying for a big test, or fighting with his father, or just feeling bad in some way. Fudou answered with a grunt when he knocked, and he entered with the tea and some snacks, and together they did homework until Genda felt almost about to fall asleep.

The next morning, after a big breakfast prepared by his mother, Fudou thanked the Gendas for their hospitality and put on his shoes to leave. But before he exited the Genda home, he looked Genda in the eye.

“Do me a favour, Genda,” he said, and his eyes were so serious that Genda nodded before he could help himself.

“Don’t mention this at school,” Fudou continued, the sharpness of his gaze boring straight into Genda’s skull. “Promise you won’t tell anyone about my family.”

His father frowned. His mother looked at Genda, gaze turning critical. But in the face of Fudou’s flat, resolute expression, what else could Genda do but nod?

* * *

Over the next week, the Genda house was a flurry of activity. Everyone (a.k.a. the father-son duo) knew what scheme Mrs. Genda was cooking up, but in a weird family synergy, without even needing to discuss it, they approved. After all, everything fell into place. They had a spare room, uninhabited for years. If some of the linen was a bit old and needed to be replaced, well, that was just a little bit of extra effort that was quickly and easily carried out by an oddly helpful Mr. Genda. And if dinner more often than not left out tomatoes, well, that was hardly anything to comment on.

In school, Fudou’s behaviour hadn’t changed. Or, more accurately, he was trying not to change it. Genda didn’t know if it was because he now knew the truth about Fudou’s parents and his living situation, but with every day that passed Fudou’s front became less and less believable.

But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. When the situation became bad enough that he was tempted to, the glowering looks Fudou sent him when no one was looking suppressed the words before they even had the chance to form. The next two weeks were a cycle of inertia and action, with nothing constant except the silence – at school, the tension of holding back from mentioning the growing elephant in the room; and at home, the purpose of working towards a common goal that didn’t even need acknowledging.

Eventually, one day, his parents pulled him aside after dinner.

“Koujirou-kun,” his mother began, and Genda already knew what she was going to say. He had known for a long time what was coming.

He himself wasn’t opposed to it. But following through with it was something else entirely.

They all wanted Fudou to stay over. But how could Genda broach the topic? Fudou had made Genda promise not to mention his situation at school, but school was the only time he ever saw him. Fudou slunk away immediately after practice. It was impossible to find a good time.

The autumn term was fast ending, though, and it was getting cold. Fudou was still acting like nothing was wrong, even though he was staying at an Internet café five nights a week, but now even the rest of the team was starting to notice. His reactions were slower, his face paler, he was ever so slightly wobblier on his feet. One day during practice, Fudou faltered and fell to the ground. It could’ve been played off as an uncharacteristic stumble and trip, but then Fudou didn’t stir for a good thirty seconds. There was no talking out of this one.

“Hey,” Genda said, walking up to him, crouching down and slinging one of Fudou’s arms around his shoulders. “The rest of you get back to practice. I’ll take him to the nurse.”

He had a dreadful feeling that he had taken far too long to make Fudou the offer. He had wasted so much time mustering up the courage to approach him. And for what? Had he been afraid Fudou would laugh at him? Or that Fudou would turn away from him? They weren’t such distant friends that something like this would drive them apart. And even if it did, this was Fudou’s health.

Genda had undeniably made a mistake. He wasn’t to blame for Fudou collapsing at school, but he was definitely at fault for not even having taken the first step.

Fudou stirred and immediately tensed. Genda adjusted his grip in response.

“Are you sure about this?” Sakuma said, the worry clear in his voice. “Do you need help?”

“We’ll be fine,” Genda reassured him. “He’s already waking up, see.”

Fudou nodded in response. Irritation was beginning to cloud over his face, and Genda could see the gears in his brain turning. If he didn’t do something quickly, Fudou would take matters into his own hands.

“C’mon, let’s get you taken care of,” he said, and tightened his grip around Fudou’s arm. Fudou tensed further, but Genda didn’t falter, and with a nod to the rest of the team they set off in the direction of the campus.

* * *

Genda didn’t actually take Fudou to the nurse. Obviously, Fudou wouldn’t want this to be documented, and being assessed by an actual health professional with enough expertise to tell that something was off would do exactly that. Fudou caught on quickly, but only said, “Let go of my wrist already, I can support myself.”

Genda drew back like a cat touching water. “Sorry.”

Fudou snorted.

Eventually they reached a secluded corner of the campus, under the shade of a tree, and Genda bought them both a drink. Orange juice for himself, and milk coffee for Fudou. It was too sweet for Genda, but one unexpected thing he had come to learn about Fudou in their three years of acquaintance was that he had an undeniable sweet tooth.

Fudou inhaled the drink like it was the nectar of the gods. (Well, maybe that comparison still brought up bad memories for Genda, even now…) He leaned back and closed his eyes, looking almost asleep, and Genda sat next to him for a few minutes as he finished up his juice. He slurped up the last few drops noisily, until he could extract no more. As he was looking around for a rubbish bin, Fudou suddenly spoke up from below.

“You’ve kept your promise.”

Genda shrugged. “I promised, man.”

“People break their promises all the time. Especially in cases like mine. Face it, if it were Sakuma Teikoku would be up in arms about me by now.”

“I promised,” Genda said simply. “And I think you’re underestimating Sakuma here. He’s a reliable guy.”

“He’s _too_ reliable,” Fudou corrected. “That’s the thing. He wouldn’t be able to keep it to himself out of worry. He’d tell an adult so that they could help me.” He pitched his voice directly at Genda now, and said, louder, “I’m surprised you didn’t get thoughts like that in your head.”

“Well,” Genda said. It was now or never. “Actually…”

And then he unloaded it all in one fell swoop. His parents were concerned about Fudou’s situation. It must be hard to be living like this. They want to help however they can. Would Fudou consider staying at the Gendas until everything blows over?

“I couldn’t impose on you,” Fudou said dismissively, like he hadn’t even been listening, and that was when the lit fuse in Genda that had been smouldering for so very long finally reached its end.

He crouched down, tossing his juice carton to one side, and grabbed Fudou on both shoulders. This time it was his turn to look directly at Fudou’s eyes.

“Listen to yourself!” he said, and if he was a bit rough, it was from the emotion. “Stop pretending to yourself, Fudou. Every day your mask cracks a little bit more. The others haven’t seen through it yet, but a few more situations like this and they won’t have to.”

“Listen to _yourself_!” Fudou retorted. “You think you’re playing the hero? Helping poor old Fudou Akio? Saving him from his situation? I don’t need your sympathy or your pity!”

“It’s not pity,” Genda growled. “We just want to help. It’s stupid, seeing you force yourself like this, when we have a spare room and bedding! We’ve enough space, and we’re near enough to Teikoku – it’s just so stupid seeing you come to morning practice straight from the Internet café pretending that everything’s fine!”

The frustration Genda let out only made Fudou close inwards. He didn’t say anything for a while. Then, he finally groused out, “So much for keeping your promise.”

Genda sucked in air through his teeth, exasperated. “ _I did._ ”

Fudou didn’t reply, and after a while Genda said, “Look, it’ll just be until things get less crazy. Until your parents are released and everything goes back to normal.” Genda knew he was being naïve, and that things wouldn’t be this easy. But that didn’t mean that they couldn’t do something.

One corner of Fudou’s mouth angled up, setting a hard, mocking line. “That’s in six months,” he said. “I couldn’t impose on your family for _that_ long.”

“We knew how long your parents’ sentence was,” Genda said. It was a simple fact. Had Fudou always been this frustrating? Genda could think of nothing more to say to persuade him. It was his choice to make, but with the options he had at his disposal, the choice couldn’t be easier.

Shouldn’t be easier, at any rate.

“Come on, man,” Genda finally said, and chanced a look at Fudou. His friend’s expression was meditative, almost aggressively neutral in countenance. The corners of Fudou’s mouth twitched, drew backwards; his brows furrowed, his gaze worked in different directions as he considered the Gendas’ offer.

“I’ll think about it,” he eventually said, then stood up, as if that was that.

Genda wouldn’t let it be. “You can think about it over at ours,” he said firmly, chancing a clap on Fudou’s back. “My mum will be so happy to have you over, and you can have a decent night’s sleep for once. At least just for today.”

Fudou looked at him, for a moment that seemed to last for a long time, but passed in seconds. When he spoke, his tone was grudging, and he threw the word out like he was casting a fishing net.

“Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the story, Sakuma.  
> Next chapter will finally be Fudou POV c:


	3. never miss a beat

Fudou had always thought that there was a certain merit in school uniforms, since you didn’t have to waste time figuring out what to wear in the morning. You had your regular school uniform and your sports uniform, you wore them at the right times, and that was it. Life wasn’t complicated.

Enrolling into Teikoku Academy High had increased his appreciation for school uniforms even more. He’d known back in middle school that all his classmates were well-off, but it hadn’t been in his face, hadn’t truly sunk in until high school. Back in middle school they’d all been stupid kids with limited pocket money, kids who would rather spend money on toys and ice cream than trying to look cool. But in high school, allowances that could grow did, and with the increased sense of rebellion came the increasing, individualising markers of wealth. Dangly earrings, only put on and flashed around after school when teachers weren’t around. Fine scarves and plush jackets draped over shoulders during the winter months. A heavy, gleaming silver chain wrapped around the straps of their standard issue schoolbags, ostensibly to secure their wallet to the bag but really trying to say much more. The newest smartphone model, casually hanging between two fingers despite the holder leaning on the stairwell, four storeys up. And this was all _with_ the school uniform regulations. Fudou didn’t want to imagine what it would be like without them.

And now, with his latest life circumstances, the reasons he had to be thankful for school uniforms only kept multiplying. Now that he was a proud Internet café refugee, commuting back to Ehime every Sunday to visit his parents, there was only so much he could bring to Tokyo. His Internet café cubicle was basically a closet, and there was only so much a coin locker could hold. But with school uniforms, you could wear the exact same piece of clothing for days and no one would notice.

Not for the first time since his parents went to prison, the thought that this was a depressing topic to be thinking about during his lunch break crossed his mind. But there was nothing to do. Genda was off helping a teacher with something, and Sakuma was in a different class and presumably hanging out with his classmates today. There was no one else Fudou really liked even on the best of days, and today was not one of them. He moodily took out a tuna bun he had bought that morning at the station and unwrapped it, and that was when Henmi walked by.

Fudou tensed. It would be a lie to say that all of Teikoku welcomed him when he transferred into the middle school department. Some had been chill, like Narukami and Doumen, and some like Jimon had got over it quickly. Some others like Gojou and Oono had needed more time. And some, while managing to work together with him just fine on the football field, had never forgiven him for what he’d done to Genda, Sakuma, and their beloved Kidou. (Tch!)

Henmi was one of them who seemed to have never grown up and moved beyond it. And the guy had an irritating nose for weakness, which was useful on the pitch but pretty damn annoying otherwise. Approaching Fudou with a sneer, he opened his mouth to say something, but a tired Fudou beat him to it.

“What do you want?”

Something in Henmi’s face twitched. Presumably, he’d had some witty quip he’d wanted to spout, but Fudou’s question had knocked him off his timing.

“What’s with that tone?” he snapped back. “I’m just saying hi.” He looked down in a manner that was anything but casual, and his lips widened into a barbed grin. “Oh, a tuna bun. Our cafeteria doesn’t sell that. You know bringing snacks to school is against school rules, don’t you?”

It was. It was a stupid rule, because the school store sold at least five different types of snacks, a nice international selection of Western and Japanese biscuits, crisps, and puddings, and they seemed to have a decent enough turnover to stay on offer to the school population. The school rule was ‘no bringing in snacks’, but clearly the key part of that rule was ‘bring in’ and not ‘snacks’.

Fudou didn’t respond directly to that comment. Just saying yes would invite further prodding into his rulebreaking behaviour, and well – his actual justification for bringing in the tuna bun, he would never say – it wasn’t a snack, it was his lunch, a _meal_ – there was no way he was telling Henmi that.

“Cat got your tongue?” Henmi quipped. His familiar sadistic, smug expression, the one that struck fear into his opponents back in middle school, was forming on his face now. “Get it? Since that’s a tuna bun, and cats like fish–”

“Henmi,” Fudou grit out. Normally it would have been child’s play to fend him off, but Fudou was tired and just wanted to be left in peace during the lunch break. “Just leave me alone.”

Unfortunately, his last few words had been said with such vehemence that they broke through the general buzz of classroom chatter. Conversations faltered and heads turned their way. In his mind, Fudou cursed. There was no way the proud Henmi was going to back off now.

And indeed he didn’t. Conscious of, and visibly buoyed by, all the eyes on him, Henmi puffed his chest up instead.

“I think not,” he said gleefully. “I’m on the disciplinary committee this week and this is a clear breach of the rules.”

It was true that he was on disciplinary duty this week, but nobody ever took it seriously. Fudou had already served his time and didn’t even remember what he’d done during it. Henmi was blatantly picking on him.

“The rules say not to bring snacks to school, right?” Fudou parroted Henmi with a sneer. “Then excuse me.” He stood up, glancing briefly at the rest of the class (who all averted their eyes, the cowards), then made for the door.

Henmi grabbed his arm. “Where are you going?”

“Are you my mother or something!” Fudou exclaimed. A pang went through his heart as he said it, but he brushed it off. “I’m going outside! Just going to make sure I follow the rules, Mr. Disciplinary Committee Member!”

“You think you can just dodge the rules by reading them the way you want?” Henmi retorted. His grip on Fudou’s arm tightened. “You obviously violated the spirit of the rule and now you’re trying to weasel out of it. That’s just typical, isn’t it!”

Fudou stopped struggling and looked at Henmi with narrowed eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“What do you think?” Henmi laughed, and it was an ugly sound. Humour danced in his cold eyes, and Fudou’s heart skipped a beat. There was no way Henmi knew, even if his family was in law enforcement. There was no way this kind of coincidence that spanned prefectures, from one side of the country to another, would happen.

“I’m taking that!” Henmi followed up and swiped at the bread still in Fudou’s grasp. Fudou reacted a few seconds too late, and instead of grabbing it neatly Henmi knocked Fudou’s arm with his own. One leg flailed up as he lost his balance and Henmi threw his other arm out to balance himself. The elbow connected to that arm went into Fudou and he dropped his bread.

Fudou immediately lunged for his falling lunch. The bread fell, the plastic wrapper glinting in the midday sun, dropping towards the floor like a bean bag in an athletic meet. Meanwhile, Henmi was still off-balance, and stepped forward to maintain his centre of gravity.

Straight onto Fudou’s tuna bun. The resulting crackle went straight to Fudou’s brain as a sudden heat surged through his veins.

“Oops!” Henmi declared loudly. Was Fudou imagining the glee in his voice? (Of course not.) The few people remaining in the classroom who hadn’t been looking turned at this and now they commanded a full audience.

The bread was squashed and the tuna had oozed out from the impact. But the plastic packaging was still intact and fully covering it. Just looking at the bun and its shiny, pristine surface made Fudou’s stomach growl. But his entire class had seen and heard his encounter with Henmi.

Fudou’s ears burned as he picked his tuna bun up. There was no way he could eat this now.

Henmi had on a look of muted triumph, of someone who had somehow weaselled his way into getting his way, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how he did it.

“So sorry, Fudou,” he said. “Guess you won’t be eating that snack after all.”

“What… is your problem?” Fudou hissed. His anger levels were rapidly rising. His acidic tone was uncharacteristic of him, and he knew he was giving the class a good show, but at this point his composure was only being held together by a single, fraying thread. Fudou shot Henmi a furious gaze and stalked out of the room. Did his classmates think that was dramatic? Who cares, what would they know about budgeting? He could hear the whispers of what would undoubtedly become next week’s gossip start up as he left, see the raised eyebrows and the corners of lips tugging up, feel the shock giving way to humour, disbelief, and – pity?

Who were they to give him their pity? These were people who had never faced substantial hardship in their lives, who had families who at the very least weren’t in prison, who had warm meals and a bed to sleep in every night, who weren’t on a scholarship and therefore didn’t have to behave according to the school’s whims every minute they were on campus. Fingers still clamped tightly around the bread packet and turmoil brewing in his heart, Fudou continued blindly down the corridors, not sure where or what he was heading to, but at the next moment –

“Fudou?”

It was Genda, heading back to the classroom from whatever he’d had to help the teacher with. Confusion coloured his features, but it quickly gave way to wary concern as he brought one hand forward to give Fudou one of his trademark reassuring shoulder squeezes. “What happened?”

“I need to talk to you,” Fudou grit out through his teeth, and this time it was his turn to grab onto Genda, though it was only to give his arm a sharp pull as he turned on his heel and headed to the courtyard.

“What happened, man?” Genda asked. But he followed, and his solid steps settled in at a steady rhythm behind Fudou’s.

“It doesn’t matter,” Fudou said. “Just… let’s hang out until the bell rings.”

He thrust the crumpled bread wrapper into Genda’s hands before realising what it must look like. What a sorry sight, both him and the bread. But to Genda’s credit, he merely fluffed the bun back up, as much as he could, before offering it back to Fudou with a faint, lopsided smile.

“Sure.”

* * *

Fudou cooled down over the rest of the lunch break. When the bell rang, he felt almost calm enough to think about Henmi without wanting to punch – nope, not quite there yet. Nevertheless, he felt ready to go about the rest of his day.

But the moment he and Genda both strolled in for their next class, the teacher looked at them, then narrowed his eyes at him. The expression on his face told Fudou all he needed to know about what was about to come.

Nakamura-sensei’s face twitched. It was a familiar expression, really, half “I can’t believe this is happening”, a quarter “why me, why my class”, and sprinkles each of various choice phrases, just take your pick: “What a shame it turned out like this”, “suppose it can’t be helped, coming from a background like that”, “I thought he’d be one of those who would make it”, and all of that good stuff, like the fakest pity party on Earth. Despite his best efforts over his sixteen years of life not to screw up, Fudou had heard these words many times before. He supposed he had been a bit of a dumb piece of shit to wish that Teikoku would never find out, but he had hoped, at the very least, for one month?

“Ah, Fudou,” Nakamura-sensei said. Between what happened with Henmi earlier and now this, everybody in the class had caught on that something was wrong. Nakamura-sensei was normally a wisecracker whose teaching may have been awful and whose jokes may have been insincere, but at least he always kept the mood of the class up. But this only made the few seconds of silence and the deer-in-headlights expression on his face today even more obvious.

Fudou stayed silent. A lot of his life lately was waiting for things to happen, waiting for the prison guards to bring his parents in, waiting for football practice to end so he could go back to his shitty Internet café booth, waiting for the penny that was the Gendas to drop, waiting… and he didn’t like it. But this was his life. He hadn’t wanted to leave Teikoku before the end of the semester, but at the rate things were going, it looked like it was just a matter of waiting for that, too.

“The principal wants to speak to you,” Nakamura-sensei said, and if he looked like he regretted invoking the principal’s name the moment he brought it up, well, let’s just say Fudou wasn’t in the mood to be patient with him. A hush went through the class at this, like he had finally confirmed everyone’s suspicions – Fudou Akio was a dodgy kid after all! That was what you got with these scholarship kids, always trouble – Henmi had to be gloating in his seat, but Fudou refused to turn to look –

“Fudou-kun? Are you listening?” There was an edge in Nakamura-sensei’s voice now, and Fudou tuned back in to see fledgling irritation in his gaze. Unfortunately, if Nakamura-sensei had said something, he had truly missed it. Fudou was off tilt, feeling like the world could pass him by and that he wouldn’t be able to do a thing, despite all he had done to fight his destiny. Ever since that day when he was six years old, when his mother had told him to be strong. He didn’t like the feeling.

“Main seminar room. Now.” Nakamura-sensei had modulated his voice, and it was softer, more measured. But the sympathy, whether real or affected, was too late to touch Fudou’s heart now. Mindful of his hushed classmates, far off to his left, Fudou merely nodded stiffly. “Yes,” he said, then turned around and walked off. His head was buzzing. His heart was numb. Right now, Fudou Akio only had his good boy act, and what more could he do?

The last thing he heard before he rounded the corner was Nakamura-sensei loudly telling Genda to return to his seat. Fudou took the stairs up two storeys, then walked through the corridor to the other wing of the school, where the main seminar room was.

 _Tap, tap_. His shoes rapped against the polished floors.

The main seminar room was big enough to hold an entire class.

Head up. Back straight.

It wasn’t just going to be the principal.

One step after another.

At this point it occurred to Fudou that he could just skip school and walk out if he wanted to. But that would just be running away from the problem. Fudou did want to keep attending Teikoku. But he had no interest in prolonged agony.

He knocked on the door, three sharp raps that were more a weary final stand than self-assured confidence. Upon hearing an answering, affirmative grunt, he took a deep breath and walked in.

* * *

The seminar room was bigger than Fudou had expected, and he had already been riding a steady wave of pessimism. Three rectangular tables were arranged to form an open square, and right in front of Fudou was a single chair. Obviously, it was for him. Could this look any more like a court of law?

He recognised only some of the teachers. It could just be him projecting, but they looked a little uncomfortable. Good! His past three weeks had just been one uncomfortable incident after another! In fact, he had been uncomfortable ever since he enrolled into this damn high school! And directly opposite him sat the person who was responsible for it all. The noonday sun blazed at Principal Ebihara’s back, giving his skin an unearthly glow. It was like King Enma himself was judging him.

Principal Ebihara’s gaze roved over his hair. Admittedly, what with being homeless, Fudou hadn’t had the time to care for it lately, and it showed – his naturally scruffy hair was sticking up and out. Teikoku was so regimented, so formal, so full of rules, so different to his first middle school back in the sticks where nobody had batted an eye at his mohawk. Fudou had got rid of it the winter of his final year in Teikoku Middle High, so that it could grow out in time for high school. But clearly a lifetime of not caring about the rules meant that he hadn’t amassed enough experience points to reach a high enough level to satisfy the Teikoku disciplinary committee. They probably would have told him to shave his head if he weren’t a football star. Well, as it was now, even though he was a football star they were going to expel him, he could see it in their faces, so…

Fudou gave the panel a quick bow. “Fudou Akio reporting.”

The panel stared back. Oh, had he done something else wrong? He’d been as polite and inoffensive as he could, but clearly it wasn’t enough. He had censored himself according to Teikoku’s wishes to fit in. All for this?

The frown lining Principal Ebihara’s brows was severe.

“Please sit,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented and kudo'd the past 2 chapters! I appreciate every single one of them. Thank you.


	4. lose yourself

The principal wouldn’t stop talking.

The meeting had been going on for some time. How long exactly, Fudou didn’t know. He had tried to pay attention at the start, to make a good impression, but quickly realised there was no point.

He knew how these things worked. The panel had made their minds up long before he even stepped into the room, and all that was left now was for each party to act out their respective roles. So there Fudou sat, listening to all the adults talking across him at each other, taking turns to agree with each other, to keep up the appearance of discussion but ultimately going in convoluted circles to one, predetermined, conclusion. They wouldn’t fucking stop talking. It was exactly his worst nightmare.

The rest of the teachers had stopped actively contributing. Maybe they were getting tired. Maybe they had realised their work day was almost over and they still had a mountain of assignments to grade. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to concern Principal Ebihara. Ebihara worked himself up into a storm, the words erupting from his mouth like a spray of automatic gunfire. At this point, the others in the room could be replaced with decorations and there would be no difference. Principal Ebihara talked and talked, until Fudou was numb to it all, registering only the sheer volume of words but no longer registering their meaning. Every single one of Ebihara’s sentences hung in the air around them like security lasers. Just one wrong move from Fudou could trigger another outburst.

But nobody’s stamina lasted forever. Finally, Ebihara wound down for what seemed like the final time. The air was still charged, but Fudou felt secure enough to let out a breath.

It was almost over.

“Do you have anything to say?” Ebihara demanded.

Did he? _Did_ he? Well, he could start with the fact that he had no idea his parents had even been breaking the law. So surely it was unjust that the school was letting him go. One part of Fudou understood the points the panel was making. If the news came out that a Teikoku student had been linked to crime, it would affect the reputation of the school. He couldn’t disagree with that. But why was he the one being punished, when none of this was his fault? Unless the panel seriously expected him to have noticed, in between his academic and extracurricular achievements, and living by himself 5 days a week in his Tokyo flat?

But he couldn’t say any of that. It’d just sound like he was making excuses for himself.

“I will take your silence as saying that you don’t,” the principal continued. He, too, let out a breath. The moment hung between them as if suspended by a thread, like the smallest undulation would be enough to knock it askew. A few seconds of terrifying, hopeful, but mostly numb silence passed.

Then Ebihara opened his mouth to speak, and the atmosphere shifted again. Around him was a ripple – infinitesimally small, barely noticeable. Some teachers straightened up slightly; others slumped milli-inches into their seats. All of them understood the principal’s cue. Expelling a student was never pleasant, but… it was almost over.

“Fudou-kun,” the principal said. “It’s unfortunate, but…”

 

_Bang!_

It had come from behind Fudou. He whipped his head around, knees already preparing to propel himself forwards, flinch reflex immediately causing him to think the worst. Was it security here to drag him out? Or a terrorist attack at the worst (best?) timing ever?

It was neither. Instead it was the last sight he expected to see, a clack of high heels into the room, a smartly dressed figure – wait, he knew that suit – removing her sunglasses and tossing her hair aside to reveal – Mrs. Genda.

She did not sit, instead towering over them all. Her expression was mild and her gaze politely pleasant. But make no mistake: Mrs. Genda was here and she was going to war.

* * *

The panel raised their eyes at the intrusion, and a gasp even escaped the pretty lips of Biology’s Matsuno-sensei. Fudou, meanwhile, was speechless. Mrs. Genda’s entrance had punched the words out of him, not just from his throat nor his gut, but from his very brain.

The same sunlight that made Principal Ebihara look like the Great King Enma turned Mrs. Genda into a battle Valkyrie. Maybe that was laying it on a little thick, but it was all that was going through Fudou’s mind at that moment. His brain felt three steps behind his body. He could do nothing but watch as Genda sheepishly entered the room after his mother and closed the door behind him.

He was carrying two schoolbags: his and Fudou’s. A burst of gratitude rushed through Fudou’s useless body.

Above him, Mrs. Genda spoke.

“I apologise for interrupting the meeting,” she said. Fudou knew her well enough now to see that this was an obligatory polite opener she meant zero percent of. “I’m Genda from the PTA Committee. First, I want to express my gratitude for taking such good care of my Koujirou-kun. He is becoming a fine man under your guidance.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts, and also, it seemed, her armour. Then her lips downturned and all pleasantries switched off.

“I’ve come for a different matter, however. I’ve made a transfer of enrolment request. I’m here to finalise it with you, Principal.”

Mrs. Genda took out a sheaf of papers from her briefcase with a rustle and walked up to Ebihara. “You see,” she gestured vaguely at the front page, “I have worked all the details out with the relevant Head of Year. Nakamura-sensei has already given his approval,” she tapped a corner of the form, “here. Principal Ebihara, we just need your signature.”

Ebihara took one look at the form and his gaze immediately slid to Fudou. Fudou couldn’t see anything on the form beyond the vague outlines of neat handwriting, but he could hazard a guess. The momentum was swinging back his way.

“Genda-san!” Matsuno-sensei protested, from somewhere off to his left. “What is the meaning of this? You can’t do this!”

Mrs. Genda turned around and drew herself up. She stared down at everyone, but her aura was not oppressive. Rather, Fudou felt like he was experiencing the benevolent regard of a deity. This was the high-flying, corporate Mrs. Genda. She was so different from the Mrs. Genda who met him at the supermarkets all flustered and apologetic, who accepted the sale items he picked up for her with an embarrassed, but grateful, smile.

“Actually,” she said, turning the pages of the form at a deliberately moderated pace and settling on the last page, “as I’ve followed all the procedures to the letter, I think you’ll find that I can.”

“Genda-san, we appreciate that you’re trying to help Fudou-kun, but with his current family circumstances…”

“I’m sorry?” Mrs. Genda interrupted this man, a teacher Fudou only vaguely recognised as belonging to the Music department. She pointed at the middle of the sheet with an elegantly manicured nail. “It says right here that his guardian is me. Look, Principal Ebihara, you can confirm that. There’s nothing wrong with me, is there?”

She didn’t expect them to seriously answer that, did she?

“You aren’t Fudou-kun’s guardian!” another teacher protested, his reedy voice shooting up high in disbelief. Fudou related, to be honest.

“I’m sure you can appreciate that given the circumstances, it is neither feasible nor appropriate for me to assume temporary legal guardianship of Fudou-kun,” Mrs. Genda replied, not even missing a beat. “But the priority here is to ensure Fudou-kun’s continuing education, and I am willing to help. In fact,” her eyes narrowed, “as PTA chairwoman it is my duty.”

“Let’s be reasonable here,” another teacher said, her voice thin and her tone almost pleading. “Genda-san–”

“Yes, let’s,” Mrs. Genda said. “Let us be nothing but reasonable. I am proposing to temporarily transfer responsibility over Fudou-kun’s enrolment to myself. Nothing more. Surely this is the most _reasonable_ course of action. I am fully aware of the requisite costs I will bear from this. So, from a financial and legal perspective, there are no problems. All that remains is you, Principal Ebihara.”

Mrs. Genda took two more steps forward. She looked down at Ebihara with a sweet smile. “Fudou is a promising young man with a bright future in both sports and academics. It is with this school’s assistance that he has been able to show us his immense potential. Surely it is _unreasonable_ to take that away from him for circumstances he played no part in causing?”

“This is crossing the line into coercion,” Principal Ebihara said. He didn’t move.

“I politely disagree,” Mrs. Genda said. “It’s a _discussion_ on what is best for Fudou.”

Principal Ebihara’s lips thinned, and again, he glanced at Fudou. It was only for a second, but Fudou could see how deeply his frown etched into his brow line. _You’re lucky you have this champion_ , the principal’s face all but said, and Fudou, still stuck to the chair by what felt like superglue, couldn’t disagree.

“Mrs. Genda,” Ebihara eventually said. His face had smoothed out; his expression was now professional. “I now have no doubt how you managed to raise such a fine son. The PTA is lucky to have you. You have persuaded me.” He produced a pen from his breast pocket, a solid, heavy-looking one that gleamed dully, and scribbled on the form with a flourish.

Mrs. Genda nodded and inspected his signature, then flipped through the pages to give the form one last check. When she was satisfied, she pushed the papers over to Ebihara. “Thank you, Principal. I trust everything will be in order. Please excuse us.”

She smiled at Fudou, still that serene, magnanimous smile of a goddess, and swept out of the room, clearly expecting the two boys to follow. And follow they did, Genda trailing after her with an almost resigned habit, looking like a natural extension of her.

It was less of an instinct for Fudou. But he walked after them, steps sounding an offbeat against his heart pounding in his chest. He avoided looking at any of the teachers in the room. Actually, the last thing he wanted was to see them ever again.

Of course, that was also exactly what would have happened if Mrs. Genda hadn’t barged in and they had got their way.

A storm of emotions brewed in his heart: anger at his classmates and teachers, disbelief at how things had turned out, gratefulness to the Gendas. Yes, he owed it all to them, the younger one especially. If Genda junior had not called his mother, Fudou would no longer be a student at Teikoku. He had dodged a bullet.

But it was despite that, or maybe because of it, that Fudou couldn’t help but think: For so long, he had acted strong. To gain power. To be taken seriously. To preserve his way of life. But when it truly counted, he hadn’t had any of that. He hadn’t been able to do anything for himself. Other people had acted and waged war over decisions that would determine the course of his life and he’d had no say at all.

* * *

Mrs. Genda walked as if she knew exactly where she was going, which was probably true since she was the freaking PTA chairwoman. They passed a few clubs on their way to the carpark, and curious gazes followed the sharply dressed executive with two boys at her heel. At least they didn’t run into anyone Fudou knew personally, although he had no doubt that it would be all over school by tomorrow. You could always rely on the gossip mill to keep running, even if you couldn’t rely on anything else.

He knew he had to thank the Gendas. The urge smouldered within him, niggling at his core, a bit like heartburn. Fudou Akio didn’t have much practice at thanking people, but even he knew that this was absolutely a situation where he had to say the words. By now, cars had come into view, and Fudou quickened his pace and caught up to Genda junior.

He cleared his throat. Genda turned to him, nonplussed. He was still holding both their schoolbags.

Suddenly, whatever Fudou wanted to say evaporated from his brain. He didn’t know if it was the stupid bags, the expression on Genda’s face, his body finally processing the past hour in all its sordid glory, or maybe a mixture of all three. I mean, it was just a thank you. A couple of thank yous. Thank you for calling your mother. Thank you for picking up my stuff. Thanks for bearing with me this entire whole hard, lonely month. Fudou meant every single one, with all his heart.

He just couldn’t say it.

But Genda was still looking at him quizzically. So Fudou, not one to be caught gaping, said instead, “Don’t you have practice?”

“Don’t you?” Genda shot back. Then, with a sheepish grin, he added, “When Mum got here, she headed straight for the football field and called out for me. She took me out of practice. I don’t think I want to go back. Not today, at least.”

“Don’t blame you,” Fudou returned, a tad uncertainly. The thank yous were still bouncing around his brain. Genda’s smile grew, though, and it cut through the noise a bit. Fudou continued, “Coach Takahashi’s scary as all hell. Well, at least we can be on his shit list together.”

“I think you just have to explain,” Genda said faintly. It was funny how he was holding himself, tall and straight but shoulders back and somewhat muted. His watchful gaze flickered from Fudou to their surroundings then back to Fudou again. It was like he was always ready to have Fudou’s back. It wasn’t a bad feeling.

“He’s strict, but reasonable,” Genda continued. “He’d understand.”

It was true. Yes, the Teikoku high school football team had been given an entire textbook’s worth of Takahashi lectures by now, and sure, Fudou had grumbled about their coach many times (though never in school, and definitely never anywhere he could’ve been overheard). But it was also precisely because of this righteous fire that Coach Takahashi would never have been let anywhere near his trial by staff panel. Coach simply would not have stood for it.

The lump in Fudou’s throat grew. “Look, Genda—”

“What? You know how he is.”

Genda’s smile was easy and his expression light. He seemed relieved that everything had turned out fine, totally unaware of the turmoil brewing in Fudou’s heart. He wasn’t deflecting on purpose. He wasn’t the type to. He was just, simply, over it.

Fudou looked up ahead, at Mrs. Genda. She was on the phone, giving instructions in a calm, measured voice. Important work stuff she had taken time away from to come here, no doubt. She noticed him looking and grinned at him, then resumed her conversation while pointing at her mobile. No openings there to even broach the topic.

And that was okay.

“You’re right,” Fudou said. “That’s just how the coach is.” He and Genda fell into easy conversation, and his stiltedness melted away like butter. In the end, he didn’t manage to thank Genda or his mother. But that was okay.

* * *

Mrs. Genda wrapped up her conversation just as they reached the Genda family car, a sleek steel blue Jaguar. The brand’s namesake emblem leaped out at him as he crossed the front of the car. It was the first time Fudou had seen it, and struck him as a stately, powerful-looking car. It suit the Gendas.

Genda junior was already waiting at the boot. With a flick of her wrist, Mrs. Genda opened the boot and unlocked the car.

“You two can sit in the back.” Her tone was warm, strong, but not coercive. It made Fudou feel like doing what she said simply because it was better that way. He understood now how she had got so far in her career. What she had displayed earlier – initiative, control, actively and diplomatically steering the conversation, with an unwavering focus on what she wanted to achieve – that was pure skill. Maybe Genda didn’t know how impressive it was because he had grown up with her, but Mrs. Genda was not a woman to cross. Fudou realised he was in awe.

He slid into the back of the car next to Genda. The interior was nice and soft, and the faint, crackly whiff of leather smelled… expensive. It probably ran smooth as silk, not like the sputtering clanksack with bristly seats his family had back in Ehime. Fudou tried not to let his discomfort show on his face, because he wasn’t jealous. This type of thing was exactly what he had spent so much effort working for, what he’d come to Teikoku to achieve.

And thanks to the Gendas, he was still on his way to doing just that.

Fudou let out a deep breath. It had been so hard. It had been so easy.

The car started to move, and Mrs. Genda’s voice jolted Fudou out of his reverie.

“Fudou-kun. I just want to tell you that our offer is still open, any time.”

Fudou nodded. Maybe Mrs. Genda could see it in her front mirror, maybe she couldn’t. Either way, Fudou had nothing else to add.

“Having said that,” Mrs. Genda continued, “where do you want me to drop you off?”

Weirdly, it was the first real question he’d had today. The first time he’d been asked for what he wanted.

“Uh, Net Room. Yoyogi. If you don’t mind. But actually, it’s far, so just the station—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Genda interrupted. “I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you didn’t get to a bed safely and sleep well tonight. Especially after this afternoon. It must have been tough.”

It really had been. This entire month had been. Fudou had tried his best, but it really had been.

His breath hitched. He tried to regulate his breathing, tried to exhale quietly, stared straight ahead, focusing on the stitching on the back of the Jaguar’s empty front passenger seat. Tan brown lines on ivory leather cut stylishly across the chair. It was a beautiful car. His seat was so comfortable. To the Gendas, the cost of this must have been like spare change.

“Genda-san.” Fudou didn’t even realise he’d spoken at first, until he processed that only one person in this car called Mrs. Genda that.

“Yes?”

“Could you,” Fudou swallowed, “please.” His tongue felt thick. “Drive me to the station’s coin lockers.”

He stopped for a second. He needed help, he knew. But this was so hard.

“If it’s all right…” he began again, haltingly, and felt a nudge at his side. Genda met his eyes and gave him a small, reassuring smile.

Fudou cleared his throat. His voice sounded horribly small, horribly far away. But he had to say it. “Can I take your offer?”

Genda let out a breath and slumped back into the softness of his seat. His smile, now broad, did all the talking for him.

“Of course, Fudou-kun,” Mrs. Genda said from the front. Her eyes were fixed forward as she negotiated another corner, but from the front mirror Fudou could see her red lips curved up into a smile. “It’s no inconvenience at all. Your room is ready. You are welcome anytime.”

Finally, Fudou found his voice and the courage. “Genda-san. _Thank you_.”

Everything from the past month was poured into those two words. He hoped the other two could hear.

“No need for thanks,” Mrs. Genda said. “For a friend of Koujirou-kun’s, it’s the least we can do.”


End file.
